


Not Even a Week

by vintaged



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Cecil/Carlos - Freeform, M/M, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Pre-Slash, oh well, this isn't really much of anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-06
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-22 14:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/914049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintaged/pseuds/vintaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos arrives in Night Vale on a Friday with a team of eight, and by the end of the following Tuesday is alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Even a Week

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for Night Vale; this isn't particularly exciting or interesting, I'm just trying to figure out these characters. I hope to write something of more depth later on, this show is just too fantastic to ignore!

Carlos arrives in Night Vale on a Friday with a team of eight, and by the end of the following Tuesday is alone.

He’s not entirely sure how it happens, although he’s certainly aware of some causes. By the end of the first day, three haven’t even removed the bags from their car; they linger around him while he investigates Cecil Baldwin’s radio station, smiling nervously and watching the door marked Station Management with wide eyes (probably because of the dark matter pooling around the hinges). They trek outside with everyone when Carlos orders the place evacuated, but when he turns back to regroup they keep going, all the way until they reach the car at the end of the road.

Carlos follows them –they are his team, after all- but they don’t stop.

“What are you doing?” he manages to snap, after an awkward silence in which the three scientists fumble for their copies of the car keys.

“Sorry, doc,” one of them says apologetically (Keisha, right?), reaching for the door handle. “But they were right; this place is all kinds of crazy.”

Carlos tries to balance the copious amounts of anger and shock flooding his brain. He struggles for an intelligent response.

“But you can’t just _leave_.” Is what he ends up with. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t faze his assistants. They begin dragging extra bags out of the trunk and dump them unceremoniously on the sidewalk (Carlos tries not to jump when the cement hisses irritably).

“I didn’t sign up for this,” responds another assistant, staring for a moment at the angry sidewalk. “There’s something seriously fucked up about Night Vale, don’t deny it.”

Carlos doesn’t even try. “But you knew what you were getting into!” he protests instead; something close to fury is boiling in his stomach. “You signed the waivers, the papers-”

“I didn’t think they were _serious_!”

“With a stack of forms that big?!”

The assistant shrugs. He lowers the final suitcase gingerly onto the walk, watching the cement for any sign of distress, and turns to face Carlos with an eagerness that belies his apologetic expression.

“I really am sorry,” he says slowly. Carlos resists the urge to clock him one with his clipboard.

“Good luck, doc!” Keisha yells from the car; the third coward is sitting in the driver’s seat, studiously observing the wheel clasped between his fingers. “Be sure to tell us how your studies go!”

Carlos considers flinging the clipboard at the car. But that would be unprofessional.

So he just stands forlornly in the middle of the road as his ex-assistants start the car and pull a U-turn that’s far too sharp to be legal, and head quickly out onto the road. None of them look back.

It’s only after they’ve rounded the corner that Carlos glances over his shoulder at the five scientists scattered behind him. Some of them look wistful. 

\---  
Saturday is spent investigating the sidewalk outside the radio station, strangely enough. Carlos figures it would be best to start with something small; something tells him that Night Vale is much more than hissing walks, and by the way his remaining assistants stick to his side it seems that it would be best to just take notes.

Not that Carlos isn’t unnerved. If anything, he’s absolutely terrified –possibly more so than his companions. Night Vale isn’t anything that was described in the thousands of packets they were issued, in the forms they all signed their names on. It’s weird and psychotic and isolated, and practically every aspect of life defies the basic laws of physics. Of _common sense_ , even.

And Carlos loves it, in a distanced, oh-good-lord-I-must-have-left-my-brain-back-in-California sort of way.

\---  
Two assistants disappear on Saturday night. Carlos suspects it has to do with Big Rico’s Pizza, the restaurant next door to the labs and rooms they all share.

He’s heard Cecil mention on the radio that everyone is mandated to eat there once a week, but it’s not until the two scientists (Delilah and Manny, he’s got their names down _now_ ) vanish from the laboratory that he believes it. 

It’s not like they don’t have their excuses; Delilah is allergic to dairy, which pretty much cuts her off from pizza and pizza-related products, and Manny’s a super-over-the-top vegan. They seem legitimate enough reasons to Carlos, anyways; he’s not concerned, and doesn’t push his assistants to come with him for lunch.

They’re leaning against the window laughing at the late eaters who’d forgotten to get their portion for the week when Carlos leaves the labs for a breath of fresh air.

And when he returns… well.

He goes out and buys another slice of pizza, just in case.  
\---  
Sunday morning Carlos goes to see Cecil, before the show airs (or at least, he thinks it’s before the show airs. There’s something wrong with the clocks… he can’t put his finger on it…). Delilah and Manny haven’t returned, and Carlos has a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that tells him they’re not going to reappear.

He orders the three remaining assistants to eat at Big Rico’s for breakfast, and actually considers taking them with him to visit Cecil. But Jocelyn (the youngest of the three) urges him to go by himself, with the reasoning that everyone will cover more ground separately. He can’t worry about them all the time –they can take are of themselves. Carlos doesn’t think that’s such a great reason, but he takes it; the faster he can get to Cecil, and get some answers, the better.

Cecil is just getting out of his car when Carlos reaches the station (he’s just imagining the claws that spring out of the tires and dig into the asphalt, really he is). When the radio host sees him, his entire face lights up with a glow of adoration that almost stops Carlos where he is.

“Carlos!” he cries excitedly, immediately trying to tamper down his happiness with a slightly more formal “How are you? Is there anything you need?”

Carlos offers an awkward smile.

“Hello, Cecil,” he manages after a moment of watching Cecil’s wide smile as he approaches. “I actually wanted to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

“Of course!”

Carlos glances around. He steps closer to Cecil, trying to ignore the way the radio host’s breath hitches at the movement. 

“It’s about my assistants,” he says, not sure why he’s gone and lowered his voice.

Cecil does the same. “What’s happened to them?” he asks, and suddenly he’s all worry.

“They’ve… well, two of them have gone missing.”

“Ahh.”

“Ahh?”

Cecil’s brow furrows apologetically. “They didn’t get their weekly Big Rico’s, did they?”

“Wha- no, they didn’t. How did you know?”

Cecil shrugs. “It’s to be expected,” he says sorrowfully. “I am sorry, dear Carlos.”

Carlos doesn’t want to understand Cecil’s apology. “But… I thought it was a misdemeanor? People don’t just disappear because they didn’t get a slice of pizza, right?” he huffs a nervous laugh. “I mean, it’s not a felony!”  
Cecil looks puzzled. “The sheriff’s Secret Police always take people for misdemeanors,” he says slowly. “Or do they not do that in the rest of the country?”

Carlos decides not to get involved in that discussion.

“But they… they’ll return to work soon, right?” he asks instead. His stomach is tying itself in guilty knots; he should have made them eat, there must have been _something_ Delilah could’ve had... and Manny could have adjusted…

He flinches at Cecil’s hand on his arm.

“I don’t think so,” Cecil says gently. “At least not in the near future.”

Carlos sighs, relaxes a bit into Cecil’s touch. “That’s what I thought.”

\---  
One of the assistants gets involved with the Angels.

Carlos doesn’t like to talk about it.  
\---  
Lee is a bit of an ass, anyways.

He’s the dreaded assistant that never listens to the rules. By this point even Carlos has learned to heed Cecil’s warnings; no matter how strange they may be, he’s figured out that the best thing to do is to accept that certain places are off limits, certain people are unthinkable, and all laws must be obeyed.

Lee doesn’t understand the whole “that-place-is-off-limits” rule. So when the Dog Park is determined unapproachable, early Monday morning, the first thing he does is tell Carlos he’s going to investigate.

“ _No_ ,” Carlos tells him firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s off limits.”

Lee scowls. “But we’re visiting _scientists_ ,” he says irritably, “we’re _supposed_ to research this stuff!”

“I said _no_.” 

He goes anyways; he sneaks out during his lunch break, but Carlos doesn’t hear of his apparent alteration until Cecil reports a young man’s strange transformation into a fizzing cloud of dark matter on the radio. The second the words float across the lab (practically empty, now) Carlos yelps, scrambles for his phone, and calls Cecil.

“Carlos! What a lovely surprise!”

Carlos doesn’t have time to be flattered by the fact that Cecil knows it’s him (probably has him on speed dial, anyways).

“Cecil, I’m calling for professional reasons,” he says hurriedly.

Cecil’s voice drops a bit. “Of course.”

“I wanted to know about the fizzing cloud spotted downtown?”

“Oh yes, that! _Apparently_ , whoever comes near it quickly becomes entrenched in a deep understanding of how utterly meaningless and entirely useless our miniscule lives are in comparison to the all-seeing void!” Cecil’s voice is entirely too cheerful for such heavy information. “Why do you ask?” 

“I… well, do you know when it appeared?”

“The sheriff’s Secret Police said it materialized around noon. Near the Dog Park.”

Carlos groans.

“What is it?”

“I think that might be one of my assistants,” Carlos says through his teeth. “He disappeared around then, and I think he was going to the Dog Park.” 

Cecil’s voice immediately takes on a sympathizing tone. “Oh my, I’m so sorry Carlos. Did he run into one of the hooded figures?”

Carlos sighs. “Probably. Or he touched the gate and it vaporized him or something. I haven’t had a chance to do enough tests on the area. I think there’s something wrong with the trees.”

A brief silence falls.

“…Is there anything I can do?”

The offer sounds so genuine Carlos can’t help but smile.

“No, Cecil. But thank you.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll…I’ll let you know when the Secret Police have taken care of everything.”

“Thanks, Cecil.”

He doesn’t see Lee again; according to Cecil he eventually floats over the fence of the Dog Park and disappears into the constant shadows. But in all honesty Carlos doesn’t mind too much; at least Lee isn’t dead. He’s just… different. And in Night Vale different seems the safest way to be.

\---

By Monday night there are only two “newcomers”: Carlos and Jocelyn.

Carlos makes sure she’s always in his vision; he’s more on edge than ever before, because he’s terribly fond of Jocelyn, and the assistant seems to know it. She lingers near him, tinkering with her seismograph, offering coffee (it must be coffee –it certainly gives him a boost of energy, and it’s a dark liquid-), and generally being inconspicuous. It makes Carlos nervous.

They go out to Big Rico’s for dinner, and Carlos finds himself waving at Cecil in the to-go line, just to see the way his face lights up (Carlos blames the not-coffee for the feeling he gets in his chest at the sight).

Jocelyn raises an eyebrow.

“You seem happy, doc,” she says, when Carlos turns back to face her, smiling.

“I’m always happy,” he says shortly, and the assistant snorts.

Dinner is luckily a more relaxed affair, and the pair return to the lab at the very least safe from misdemeanors; even the tentacled shadow that lounges by the doorway is quiet when they enter (usually it sings “I’m a Little Teapot” whenever someone walks by). Jocelyn is strangely quiet when Carlos bids her goodnight, but he’s too tired too pay the uncomfortable silence too much mind.

He climbs into bed, tries to ignore the ominously growling pile of dust under the curtains, and goes to sleep.

When he wakes the next morning there is a fresh pot of coffee on the kitchen table and a note beside it reading simply, _Sorry_.  
\---

Cecil drops by at lunch. He’s brought Carlos an orange burrito with dark green sauce oozing out the sides, and Carlos finds to his surprise that he’s more grateful than he would have expected.

“I brought you lunch,” he says needlessly when Carlos opens the door. “I know –everyone knows-” he blushes.

Carlos tries to give this strange person a genuine smile. Cecil’s response certainly makes it worthwhile (his eyes brighten and he bites his lip, and it’s all terribly endearing).

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, and takes the food tentatively from Cecil’s hands. “That’s very kind of you.”

Cecil blushes again, a deep purple. “Oh, it’s nothing, I was happy to do it for Night Vale’s favorite scientist!”

Scientist. It’s singular now.

Strangely, Carlos doesn’t feel as isolated as the term proclaims; at least this far into the day, he knows who he can count on –and it’s himself. Always, forever himself.

Cecil offers him a tentative smile.

“You know, Carlos…” he starts, and when Carlos doesn’t interrupt him (just stands there awkwardly, holding the burrito in one hand), he takes a deep breath and continues, “You know, if you ever decide you want help with your science, I’m always available.”

Carlos blinks in surprise.

“Except when I’m doing the show, but, you know, any time other than that. Or even during! Anything to help you out.” Cecil fumbles with his iridescent tie and shrugs up at Carlos. His smooth, radio-ready voice shakes ever so slightly. 

There’s something so utterly charming about the proposal that Carlos suddenly finds himself smiling wider, and nodding.

“Yes,” he says, “Yes, thank you Cecil. That would be great.”

It’s worth it just to see that light in his eyes.


End file.
